My dreams have beenunusually vivid and disturbing lately.
One, a sex dream of the graphic sort I almost never
have (much as I may have tried to conjure them up
one adolescent bedtime after another), but mechanical,
in a frightening way, a hydraulic sucking, reminding
me the next day of those red-liquid filled glass
dipping birds that were so popular in the early '70s.

Then, more recently,
another dream with a similar detached mechanical
dynamic, but free of the overt sexuality. A baby,
neither male nor female, cries alone in a papoose.
Somehow I know that only I can deal with it. (I
am reminded of the other night at Yoshi's for
Pharoah Sanders when a toddler walked by behind
his parents, crying. I caught his eye and stopped
his crying until he remembered what was up.)
I take the baby under the arms out of the papoose,
flip it over and settle it back down head first.
The I immediately take it out and flip it over
again. And again, and again.